The Hearts of Lovers
by lrigD
Summary: Because really, he has no doubt they'll reach that point eventually. Together. Post 3x13 - hope you enjoy!


**_Wow, 16 seconds into last night's episode and I already knew it was going to be great!_**

**_... Figures that we get _that_ confession the very last episode of the season, but hey, it's better than nothing, right? _**

**_And so, here it is. This is nothing concrete, really, just me typing without a real plan in my head - but I like the feel of it. Also, don't know about the title, but I like it :)  
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**_Hope you enjoy!_**

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A tear rolls down her cheek. Slowly, one of the many these past few days.

But it doesn't make her any weaker, nor any less beautiful.

And that's just the thing, he muses. She could never look any different to him; he thought he could never regard her as anything other than Gillian, his Gillian, her kindness, her charm, her beauty, her love… the image of her was forever captured in his head, like a burn mark, perhaps, but one he's willing to bear.

He'd never admitted it to anybody out loud before yesterday evening. _Yeah. Yes, I _do_ love her that way. _Because, really, they were _his_ feelings, and he may be careless at times with his information but he _always_ has a reason. He never does anything without a reason, a sad echo of a world where nothing is for free.

But there it is. Telling somebody out loud, even if he had known for a long time now, makes it easier, somehow, to see her. It doesn't change anything about them, but he feels liberated, he feels more at ease with himself and with them.

Slowly, the people who were gathered on the graveyard disintegrate and he stands up almost thoughtlessly, mirroring their movements. She'd said she didn't want to go to the service afterwards, and he understands her completely, so instead he thinks he'll take her home. They've taken the day off, both of them, even if he'd done so with his usual carelessness: the others would manage for one day.

He gives her time to gather her thoughts and feelings and when she finally stands up, he offers her his arm in silence and she takes it. They've come walking to the graveyard, something he didn't see the significance of at first, but Gillian wanted it, so it was okay, and he appreciates the moment now.

A few blocks from her apartment, she nudges him with her elbow and he is glad to see a smile on her face –a genuine one, his mind catalogues– and her eyes a little more alive.

"Thanks for coming today." Her voice is soft and a bit raw, without the smoothness it usually possesses; he simply smiles back, a soft, _real_ smile, and they walk on together.

A few minutes later, they are both seated on her comfortable couch. He imagines her sitting in the corner, curled up with a good book and plenty of chocolate nearby; maybe a blanket around her, and her tucking her hair behind her ears as she turns a page. The image is so real he almost loses himself in it, taking the dream further, but she makes a soft sound and he looks up.

She's staring ahead of her, and in a flash he is reminded of the day before, when they sat on another couch in another place, and she had a necklace in her hand, and if he had to pick any favorite moment with her, maybe it would be that moment. Because despite the trouble in her mind, despite everything around them, for a moment she'd found peace in his arms; he'd noticed it in her slowed breathing, her posture that had been just a bit more relaxed, the casual hand on his leg.

"What're you thinking about, love?" he asks her at last, and she turns her head towards him. He is very much tempted to embrace her, and lean into her as they did yesterday; but maybe, he thinks, she is not ready yet.

"The shortness of life," she answers him honestly, and before he can stop himself, he is beside her anyway, and her head is in that perfect spot between his head and shoulder.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he just sits like that, kissing the top of her head. Words have never been a necessitude between them; something that has been both a blessing and a curse. They don't need a spoken language when they can read each other flawlessly, especially now that both their walls are down.

And he can read it in the line of her body, the way she leans against him, her head nestled against his body, so full of trust. She doesn't need words to convey that particular message.

They have time. She isn't there yet, and maybe neither is he, because the last time he'd done anything like this, he'd ended up with a divorce and a severely bruised heart. And she isn't ready yet, either, because the last time _she'd_ done this, she'd lost him, and before that, she'd lost somebody else in an entirely different way, somebody who'd taken a piece of her heart along with him –

But there is no doubt in his mind.

They'll reach the point eventually.

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**_Sorry about the tenses - I tend to write in the past tense, but this piece just flowed better in present tense. However, I did have a little trouble not switching to the past tense. I tried fixing it, but maybe I fixed it wrongly a few times._**

**_Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. And does anybody know when the next season starts?  
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End file.
